The Problem with Fate
by midnightneverland
Summary: She takes that moment to study the planes of his face—the crinkle of his forehead and his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He is here, but not here, she finds, his eyes glazed over with whatever is turning through his mind. Three times Warren tries to say "I love you" and one time he does. Rated M for mild sexual content.
1. Snores

They settle on his floor, wrapped in a fleece blanket, a bowl of popcorn between them. It's their thing, their weekend ritual, and it feels as familiar to Max as the beating of her own heart. Warren complains that she's hogging the blanket. She responds by dropping her feet into his lap. He yelps and scoots backwards, shooting her a look that doesn't look nearly annoyed enough. The X-files plays on the screen in front of them. She talks way too much during the show, but they have seen each season enough times that it doesn't matter anymore.

"Is this the one with the guy who can see into serial killers' minds?" Max asks. She realizes that her feet are back in his lap. He rubs them absently, and she thinks of pulling them back, but he's so attuned to the show he doesn't seem to notice he's doing it.

"Correct," he says, then shoots a quick glance at her. "Well, correct enough, anyway. There's more to it than that."

"Smartass," she scoffs and pulls her feet back anyway, startling him into the present. He blushes when he realizes what he'd been doing and switches his attention back to the show. She takes that moment to study the planes of his face—the crinkle of his forehead and his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He is here, but not here, she finds, his eyes glazed over with whatever is turning through his mind.

She lets the quiet build between them. His hand brushes against hers as they reach for the popcorn, a small burst of lightning between them each time.

She leans against him, because that is what she always does, but when her hair tickles against his lips, he flinches and lifts an unsteady hand to brush it away. His chest draws and pulls at his breath, as if he is calculating his breathing. It lulls her into a daze and she hasn't realized she's dozed off until he coughs and the sudden movement jerks her awake. Her mouth is dry and raw and she hopes to God she wasn't snoring.

She peers up to see him watching her, smirking. "You sounded like a chainsaw. I thought for a second you were going to wake up the whole dormitory."

"Oh, God." She buries her head in her hands.

"It's adorable," he continues.

"Oh, God," she repeats and he continues to smirk, tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth.

"You're not allowed to tell anyone about this, Warren Graham. Seriously. I'll tell everyone you sleep in bunny pajamas if you do," she promises.

"And how would you know?" he retorts and on a braver note, "care to test your theory?"

She blushes, which is ridiculous seeing as they're talking about bunny pajamas. She imagines him strutting about her dorm shirtless and with a bunny tail and an odd laugh bubbles inside her.

"Nope, still absolutely adorable."

She peers out from her fingers and meets his eyes, still dancing with laughter. He tugs her hands away slowly and the smile falls into a more serious one. "You're always adorable though," he starts and scoots closer, his leg brushing against hers. He tilts his head to capture her lips in a quick kiss. She laughs lightly against his mouth because it's still new and it catches her off guard, off balance. "Max, I-"

"Shit!" She yelps, ice-cold water seeping into her pants. She jumps up to see he'd knocked over her water and it had spilled all over the front of her pants.

"Oh," Warren says, staring at it and his eyes snap back to her bewildered face. "Oh!" He reaches for the blanket and tosses it towards her outstretched hands. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I'll change," his face darkens, "later, I mean," she adds. She doesn't want him to leave and the water isn't nearly as cold now that her body is flush in embarrassment. For now, she sits with the blanket in her lap and Warren focuses on the screen again.

When they reach the part where Mulder and Scully kiss, a muscle twitches in his jaw and he smiles smugly again. She places a hand on his knee and it relaxes. "You're the Mulder to my Scully, Warren," she jokes.

"Yeah," he says softly and pulls her close, chuckling into her hair.


	2. Spiders

The controller rumbles in Max's hand and she twists it as she narrowly avoids Warren's character jumping atop hers with a giant sword.

"I don't think twisting the controller is going to help you move," he advises, glancing quickly towards her before grabbing hold of her character and smashing her to the ground.

"Uh, yeah, it's a scientific fact," she replies. She jerks her controller up to avoid him grabbing her again.

"And it's working out so well for you." He body slams her again.

She scoffs, clearly having picked the wrong character to use. His damned long-range characters always beat the crap out of hers and she'd yet to find a way to beat his strategy. The one she was using now was short-ranged, a stupid move on her part.

She manages to catch him at a weak moment and slashes him one, two, three, times before dashing out of his reach. "Ha, indeed," she brags and feels a slight tickle at her neck. She shoots him a dark glance, surprised that he would use such a tactic, but he's facing the screen with both hands still on his controller.

"Warren?" she whispers and reaches a tentative hand towards her neck. A spider half the size of her hand drops down and she immediately shrieks and jumps to her feet.

Warren jumps up as well, all wild eyes and brandishing the controller like a weapon. "What? What is it?" he cries.

She laughs weakly and points a toe at the spider slowly crawling towards him. "Fucking spider," she says and he snorts.

"Need me to save you from the big bad spider?" He winks and grabs one of the magazines on her couch, rolling it up. He spins around slowly, looking for the offending creature. "Hey, mister spider, come out and play. Fuck, where did it..." Suddenly he cries out and jumps onto the couch, shaking his leg. He is flailing limbs and squeals and Max has to yank the magazine out of his hand. Finally, she spies it, right on the seat of his pants, and she smacks it with the magazine without a second thought. It falls to the ground, dead.

"Uh, well," Warren says gracefully. He places a hand on his butt.

"You're welcome," Max says, and she isn't sure what's worse, the flame of her cheeks or the laughter seeping out from her clenched jaw.

"Oh, is it funny?" He recovers and suddenly he is upon her, fingers digging into her sides and the laughter is torn out of her. "You really need to work on your dodging," he says, lips against her ear and she squirms, trying to free herself from his grasp. They roll around the floor, him trying to pin her down, and her trying to dive out from under his arms.

She attempts a rebuttal but can only wheeze out "spider-killer," which causes him to dig his fingers in even further.

She jerks forward, promptly smashing her face against his and his hands pull away as they both groan. Lights swirl before her eyes and her lip feels swollen from where it had connected with his cheekbone.

He shakes his head and his eyes roam across her face, accessing the damage. "Okay, maybe I deserved that. Are you okay?"

She nods, wincing as she brushes her fingers against her lip. Swollen, but not too much. She'd probably bruise.

"You know," he pauses, drawing in a deep breath. There is laughter sparkling in his eyes. "If you like it rough-"

"What?" She yelps and tries to smack him but he grabs her hand and pulls her towards him with a chuckle.

"I'm sorry. Would you like help, uh, cleaning that wound?" His eyes are on her mouth and she tries to smack him with her other hand, but he grabs that one as well. He places a lingering kiss on her bottom lip before murmuring, "I mean, clearly, from a medical standpoint, my love has magical healing powers."

 _Love._ She stiffens in his grasp and his words clash loudly in her ears. It's a joke, but at the same time it isn't and the sudden wariness that washes over his eyes confirms that. It's the first time he's used the word, joke or not. Then, slowly, as her brain kicks back on, she pushes him gently away. "Yeah, right," she scoffs, too late. She can barely tell that he's dropped her hands now. There is a silence that stretches between them and it rings painfully in her head.

"Uh, we should put some ice on that," he finally says.

"Yeah," she agrees, but her lips are now as numb as the rest of her body. She reads too much into these things, but she tries to shake it off as he hunts for some ice in the lounge room.

"You're a hot mess, Maxwell," he says when he returns and instead of pressing the ice to her lip, he hands it to her. "But I like it." He steals a kiss against her temple and the uneasiness folds away once again.


	3. First Times

Their first time is not exactly a single event. It's like a series of crackles in a fire- sudden, random, and fanning the flames.

They have kissed and they have touched nearly a dozen times, hands seeking to find the moment where their currents align. They lean into their kisses a little longer each time, stopping only when their hands no longer seem to know what to do. He is fire and stone, tension in every muscle and word and she is the breeze that swirls between them, smoothing the edges. The air is electric every time he pulls her close to him, but it stays, the anticipation of the storm.

The storm hits while they're rewatching a season of the X-files, both of them too tired to really pay attention. There's a crick in her neck, a muscle tight from where she'd rested her head against his chest, half-asleep. She sits up slowly, rubbing the soreness and his hands hesitantly meet hers. She leans into his touch, his fingers kneading the sharpness coiled there and a new one coils in her stomach. A moan slips from her lips, a breathy rumble that takes them both by surprise.

His hands still and he gazes down at her, eyes wide and lips parted. There is a moment's pause, then another, and his lips are upon hers, clumsy in their urgency. They slowly trace their way to the spot where his fingers had been a moment before and then to her throat, where her breath hitches. There are stars bursting in constellations around her, even as she closes her eyes, rings of hazy light pulsing and pulsing.

When she moans again, the same soft sigh that tumbles from her lips before she can stop it, he groans into her mouth and something is unraveled in both of them.

Her hands settle on his chest and slip down, tracing his thin build before pressing against the curve of his ribs, the beating of his heart that seems to skip around her touch.

He is careful with her, the way he is with most things he studies. His eyes gage her reaction when his fingers trace across her stomach, his tongue across her earlobe. His touch is feathery light, even as he fumbles with lifting her shirt over her head. It takes him several times to find the clasp to her bra and she ends up having to remove it as he can't seem to understand how it opens.

She struggles with the button to his pants not because she can't open it but because her hands are too unsteady. He is not much better but soon they are in a tangle of clothes that they kick behind them and he walks her backwards to her bed.

He kisses every spot he can reach, exploring the curves and outline of her body. When he settles above her, arms braced against either side of her, he smiles and nips her lightly upon her lips. "You're beautiful," he whispers. There is conflict on his face, as if there is something more to say, then he is there, pressing against her entrance. His lips claim hers, mumbling something incoherent as he starts to sink in.

She yelps at the burst of pain and it's nothing like she expects it to be. She feels as if she is being torn in half and he presses quick kisses to her forehead, stutters a stream of apologies into her ear as he holds himself above her, trembling but unmoving until she breathes again.

It's clumsy and rushed and the pain never fully dies down, a ring of fire that laps at the muscles tight around him. When he finishes, he reaches between her legs and tries to soothe the pain there, bring her over the edge like him. But there is blood and his touch is like nails against the pain.

He pulls her close to him but she avoids his eyes, not wanting their sympathy. She feels more vulnerable in that moment than in all of her nakedness. His eyes invade her, seeking answers for questions he doesn't dare to ask. He falls asleep stroking her hair, but it takes her much longer to fall asleep.

A few days later, he shows up with a pile of books, dropping them proudly onto the table between them. She blushes at the titles, all instructional books for lovers. "I was up all night researching," he says, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. "I think I found out more than I needed to know, or wanted to know, really." A brief moment of horror passes over his face but then he beams at her. There are times where she thinks she doesn't deserve him and as she raises on her toes to place a kiss on his forehead, she is reminded of that again. That conflicted look flashes on his face again, but he says nothing, shifting his fingers through her hair instead.

The second time is better and by the third, she can't remember a time where she isn't tangled up in him.


	4. Displays of Affection

They walk through the aisles of the grocery store, Warren scooping up boxes of cookies while Max settles on popcorn. Her dorm is seriously lacking in snacks lately. She's almost positive that he devours everything after she passes out as he's prone to midnight snacks. He's prone to a lot of things, she thinks, as he laughs a little too loudly at the cartoon on one of the boxes. But an affectionate smile tugs at her lips and she pushes the cart into him to grab his attention.

"How old are you again? Because sometimes I feel like I'm babysitting a seven-year-old. A seven-year-old who eats way too much." She rolls her eyes for added measure.

"You're just jealous of my amazing metabolism," he tells her, dumping at least five boxes into the cart.

"Yeah, because you burnt off so many calories when you passed out on the PS4 last night."

"Are you suggesting another way to burn calories?" He tilts his head, grinning, and she jabs the cart into him again.

"Can it, horn dog. We're on a mission," She pushes the cart around him and into the next aisle, trying to hide the flush on her face.

His laughter follows her. "You can't run away from me. Unless, you've got a craving for canned vegetables."

She considers chucking a can of peas at him but just keeps moving instead. She doesn't even hear him sneak up on her, his arm curling around her waist. He tugs gently at the waistband of her pants, pulling her to him.

"Warren," she hisses, smacking his hand away. She hates public displays of affection and seeing people kiss and cuddle in front of her makes her squirm. She treasures her personal space too much and in a sea of people, there is only so much space she can claim for herself. To have another person invading that is just too much. Warren is all about making his affection known. She can't count the number of times he has dropped an arm around her while she's chatting with friends, and she puts up with it. But in the back of a crowd, when he nuzzles against her neck or sneaks kisses against the shell of her ear, it is too much. He backs off when she tells him but the boundary between what is appropriate or not blurs more and more each day.

"One kiss," he begs, holding his hands up in surrender. When she scowls at him, he steals one anyway, quick and chaste against her warning growl.

"We're in a store," she reminds them, and again he is bewildered by her reasoning.

"I'm done. I'm sorry. I promise not to try to strip you and throw you against a wall of canned carrots, unless-"

"No." She whirls away from him again, heading towards the bread aisle now, just for the distance between them.

"I was going to behave," he calls after her and a woman examining a package of hot dog buns pauses to look up at them.

Max's cheeks flush furiously once again. "Shut up," she warns, picking up a loaf of wheat bread and pointing it dangerously towards him. This is exactly why she hates public affection and now they're gaining an audience.

"Max, wait. I'm sorry." He runs to catch up with her. She whacks him on the head with the bread as soon as he's in range. He blinks and gently takes the bread from her, returning it to the shelf. "Are you ashamed of me?" he asks. "Is that it?"

His words surprise her. "What?" she counters.

"You're always pushing me away whenever there's anyone around. You act like you don't want to be around me and right now you kind of look like you want to rip out my spleen."

She bites her lip and looks around, noticing that the hot dog bun lady has moved to a different aisle. They're alone again.

"No, you dolt, I'm not ashamed of you. I just need my space out in public. It doesn't have anything to do with you." She crosses her arms, feeling more uncomfortable by the moment.

"Are you sure?" He shuffles his feet as he examines her expression. "Because, you know, I'm always the first to kiss you and sometimes I feel like you're just going along for the ride. Like one day you're going to wake up and tell me to buzz off or something."

"That's not true," she argues, "well, not exactly true." She thinks of all the times she's kissed him on the forehead, snuggled against him, and the few times she'd booped him on the nose. She thinks those should count, indefinitely.

"Max, just tell me. Are you having second thoughts? Not into this? Am I going to fast? Too far?"

She finds that a little hard to answer considering they've had sex at least ten times. She raises a hand to her temple and leans against the wall of white bread. She can't believe they are having this argument in the bread aisle of a freaking grocery store. Her bubble is so compromised that it's nonexistent by this point.

But when he takes her face in his hands, eyes gazing down at her in a passion so blatantly obvious, she doesn't feel the wall anymore. She sighs and his fingers brush across her cheek. "I love you, you goofhead. I don't need to kiss you next to a stop sign to show you that. I would rather have you all to myself and show you that way. I'm just not a very outwardly emotional person."

His fingers have frozen at the corners of her mouth, eyes wide. "You what?" he asks and she realizes, far too late, the words she'd just said.

"I love you," she repeats hesitantly. The words feel too heavy in her mouth, but they are real just the same. There is no one she feels more comfortable with; he knows her completely.

He exhales suddenly, his breath shuddering against her lips before he kisses her, slowly, deeply, and more intimate than is probably appropriate in the store. When they both pull away, breathless, he leans his forehead against hers. "I love you, too." The words linger, staining the air like ink. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm such a jerk. I won't pressure you into doing anything you're not comfortable with. I promise I will never assault you in a grocery store again, unless-"

"Shut up," she whispers and kisses him again because she is willing to ignore her surroundings for one moment if he will kiss her hard enough to make her forget her name. Just this once.


End file.
